


Curves

by felandaris



Series: Another Place And Time [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avvar, Avvar, Avvar Cullen, Avvar Culture and Customs, Avvar Inquisitor, Consensual Sex, Cullen Rutherford Smut, Cullenlingus, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Massage, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, Pregnancy Kink, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felandaris/pseuds/felandaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen finds Criosdan during a private moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orban/gifts).



> For Orban, whom you may know as [Cantkeepmyeyesoff on Tumblr](http://cantkeepmyeyesoff.tumblr.com) where she posts the most amazing screenshots.  
> This features her Avvar character Criosdan (Cree-dan, I think) and Thane Cullen.  
> Enjoy!

Fingertips, warm and slippery. A palm settling on a firm thigh, a gentle downwards stroke. The other hand on her tummy, massaging soothing circles into grateful skin.

Criosdan takes a deep breath, soaking up the balm’s scent of sandalwood and oakmoss; half-open eyes tracking languid motions, lulling herself into relaxed calm. A roll of the shoulders brings a satisfying crack. The heel of her hand brushes past her newly hairless mound, smoot and silken. Examination becomes caress. This is _her_ time, her little ritual; thanking her body that she puts through so much sculpting and training by keeping it moisturised and nurtured; an escape from the duties of a Thane’s wife.

A presence in the room bids her to stop for a heartbeat. Muscles tense, toes curl into tattered furs. She’s put at ease upon recognising Cullen, sneaking up in the room’s candle-lit half-dark. Not that he’s easy to hear, but she senses him- his smell, warmth and _might_.

“You’re early,” she drawls, ready to sink into his embrace.

“Got back quicker than we thought.” Short stubble rasps, a husky voice rumbles and an arm snakes around her front to pull her into a wall of heat and hair. “It seems I arrived just at the right time.”

Criosdan smiles a hum, letting go of a long breath. Her head reclines against a broad shoulder as his middle moulds into the small of her back. Weathered palms crawl up, coming to rest under her bosom. They start swaying in leisurely sideways motions. Time passes- one minute, five, possibly ten; still rocking left and right to the melody of happy sighs and crackling fire.

Cullen’s whisper drags her out of blissful, standing half-sleep. “Beautiful.” A blunt-nailed scrape across her ribs elicits a breathy giggle. More urge lies in his explorations now, teasing her senses out of their cosy daze.

Criosdan winces, confused, when his fingers leave her; chews on her lip while he’s gone; leans back when he returns. She was going to speak but the words fade into a throaty _ah_ when his hands, slick with ointment, begin roaming. Down her arms, by her hips, her backside- cupping, fondling, moulding; tracing tattoos, retelling each scar’s story in loving touch. As solid as Cullen is underneath the pliant leathers, as supple does he keep his lips. Criosdan jumps from the pleasant shiver an open-mouthed kiss sends down her neck then yelps when sharp teeth sink in. The warmth that’s been pooling in her tummy bubbles up into a throb between her legs as lazy comfort transitions into acute arousal.

Her own grip tightens, fingers digging into slim flanks, shoving him closer. Another _ah_ , louder and lustful, when his length, covered just by flimsy suede, rubs against her bare arse.

His voice again- each sound sweltering, every syllable dripping with need. “Perfect,” tracing her shoulders, “exquisite,” dipping in the valley of her breasts before caressing her abdomen, toned and athletic. “Too flat.”

Hurt has her frowning, heart sinking, and she turns, but Cullen won’t let her. A shush brings a reassuring prickle in her ear. She can hear him smile.

“Not round enough.”

Criosdan’s mouth drops open in understanding. Again she tries to face him, and once more he restricts her movement. He presses further in, if that’s possible; strength and breath and arousal. Wide hands lie heavy on her stomach, rubbing, outlining a shape it doesn’t yet have.

“It’ll get bigger, rounder,” slippery circles accompany his words, “and I’ll be there to watch it grow.”

Criosdan realises how much her breasts have been aching for his touch when he cups them, weighing, smearing balm into their taut form.

“These will swell and get sensitive,” a pluck at a tight nipple, “and I’ll be there to love them.”

Need tingles through her now, radiating from her peaks, her centre. She’s clutching at him, white knuckles begging for more.

“You’ll be all ripe and radiant and breath-taking. And everyone will know you took my seed,” teeth scraping by her ear, “that you’re bearing our child.”

Criosdan’s back arches, shoving out her rear to meet the insistent rolls of his hips. “Please,” more sigh than enunciation, “please, I-,“ a yelp as her world turns upside down when he hoists her over his shoulder with no effort; giggles when she’s carried through the room: quiet glances as she sinks into their bed of pelts.

Cullen hovers, his tense poise promise of what is to come. Their gazes lock, and he holds hers as he shuffles backwards, down her frame. The tip of his tongue twirls around her areola, thumbs draw flimsy patterns on her thighs. More movement, and ragged breath strokes her bare delta.

 He never breaks eye contact when the first fluttering kiss grazes where leg becomes lip; not when his bottom lip brushes up her seam, down and up again; and not when his tongue flicks at her bundle. Only when he sucks the nub in and her head falls back with a sob does he close his eyes and indulge in her humming as he suckles and laps.

By now Criosdan is so receptive, so weak from his ministrations, that every shift of his weight, each flick of his hair evokes a fresh shiver. A mere few tugs of Cullen’s eager lips have her bucking, ready to tumble. It’s the press of thick fingers inside her, however, combined with his full-mouthed growl, that does it.

Tremors and twitches build into a rolling wave washing over her entire being, drowning her in sensation.

 When Criosdan comes to she is heavy, comfortably reluctant. She forces her lids up, but the sight before her shocks her into sudden alertness.

Sat back on his heels, loincloth shed, Cullen’s stare is piercing, compelling her to attention as he strokes himself.  A groan drops from her lips, then a hiss as she follows the flicks of his wrist; the up and down of his shaft between his fingers; the single bead pearling from his crown.

Lips parted and abs tight, Cullen rocks into his palm, struggling for a steady rhythm. Though control is slipping, he’s not budging, so Criosdan decides to draw him out. Her feet move first, then her legs, sliding open to reveal where she needs him. Trembling hands close in, the fingers of one spreading glistening labia while the other seeks out her pearl, swollen and throbbing.

Cullen observes but resists. Only when a finger disappears into her heat, evoking a low moan, does he give in. He pounces on her then, crawling up above her.

Criosdan’s midriff curls upwards, her arms open, her neck cranes. Skin prickles and tiny hairs rise as her body _reaches_ for him. When he’s settled he pauses, taking her in. A stray curl drops into his face, hunger blazing in his gaze. His lips find hers, and he tastes of mint and mead. When they part she’s heaving, but there’s no respite. She catches a glimpse of Cullen’s smirk before he flips her over.

A surprised yelp fades into a howl when he enters her, _finally_ ; thick and hard and filling. He slides in with delicious ease, to the hilt, and rests for a breathless instant. On her knees, Criosdan is at Cullen’s mercy, and she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Then he starts moving; a smooth glide and beast-like grunts. He hits _that_ spot deep inside her, growing more sensitive with each stroke. She rocks backwards, into him, relishing the heavy slaps of his sack wet and noisy. Succumbing to his pace, to their union, she’s ready to let go again when he stops. It’s all Criosdan can do not to pound her fist down in frustration.

But he beckons her to turn, and when she’s flat on her back she sees it. _That_ look- predatory greed blending into sombre determination.

He meant what he said.

It’s in Cullen’s stare when he places her leg his shoulder; in how he’s still looking as he takes himself in hand; how his eyes never leave hers even as he sinks back inside, face contorting with all-encompassing pleasure. And it’s in his voice, his words.

“Beautiful and glowing,” a strain in his baritone, a peek at bouncing breasts, “for the whole world to see.”

Criosdan purrs her agreement, one hand snaking down where she’s spread open.

“All plump and ripe,” distracted by her shameless masturbation, “from my seed.”

Breathless promises and fierce thrusts have her shuddering, back on the verge. Suddenly Cullen is no longer on his knees but right on top of her, bulky masculine weight bearing down. Criosdan gasps as her leg is raised, then hisses when he slides in _even deeper_. Neither will last long, and they know it.

A firm grasp on her wrist, and her hand is replaced by thick, knowing fingers. He kneads, flicks and teases, and heat rises through her again; trickling from deep inside, spiralling up her spine, through her chest, and she arches up as she lets go.

Her end elicits his, and both cry out as he gives her his seed; holding on to each other as their bodies, their souls melt into one for a blessed moment.

Climax ebbs off gently, gradually, leaving relaxed features and comfortable fatigue. She winces as he slips from her, sighs when a sinewy arm pulls her close, tucking them in.

As ever, Cullen’s body is a cosy furnace, easy to lean into and find peace. Stimulating before, his touch now is reassurance, safety, guiding her towards the Fade.

Once more a palm rests on her stomach. “The Lady will smile upon us,” he muses, his whisper thick with emotion as he rubs loving circles into her skin.

“You think so?” Criosdan’s eyes are closed, but she finds Cullen’s hand, pulls it up to plant a kiss, and another. Giddy images of dainty feet and golden curls flash before her, and she drifts off smiling.

Three fortnights later Cullen is proven right.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> [Find me (and the boys) on Tumblr!](https://http://cullenstairshenanigans.t%20Tumblr.com) ʘ‿ʘ


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